Chapter 7 Lia
LIA
The drive to Vane's place is quiet, filled with a tense energy that makes my stomach flutter.
I keep my hands folded in my lap, occasionally smoothing down my prom dress even though it doesn't need it.
Every time we stop at a red light, I feel his eyes on me, but I can't bring myself to meet his gaze.
“You okay?” Vane asks, his voice breaking through the silence.
“Yeah,” I lie, then correct myself. “Just nervous.”
He reaches over and takes my hand. “We don't have to do anything you don't want to do.”
The sincerity in his voice surprises me. I squeeze his hand, still not entirely sure what I want.
We pull up to a small apartment complex on the edge of town. It's not run-down exactly, but definitely modest. Nothing like the two-story house I grew up in.
“It's not much,” he says, reading my thoughts as he parks the car.
“It's fine,” I say quickly.
Inside, the apartment is small but surprisingly tidy. There's a stack of textbooks on the coffee table, a few superhero action figures lined up on a shelf that must belong to Knox, and mismatched furniture that somehow works together.
“Is everyone asleep?” I whisper, noticing how quiet it is.
“Knox and Landon are at a friend's house tonight. Come on.”
He leads me down a narrow hallway to a bedroom at the end.
Two twin beds sit against opposite walls, the space between them tight but organized.
One side has posters of bands I recognize, clothes hanging neatly in an open closet.
The other is more sparse, with only a couple of framed photos and a small bookshelf.
“You share the room?” I ask, wrapping an arm around myself. The reality of what we're about to do hits me all at once.
“Yeah, with Xavier.” Vane steps closer, his hands finding my waist. “He's working the night shift. Won't be home until morning.”
I nod, trying to push away the sudden wave of nerves. This is really happening. I'm in Vane Blackwood's bedroom. The boy who has tormented and fascinated me since my freshman year.
He steps away briefly, reaching for a silver flask on his nightstand. “Want some? It might help with the nerves.”
“Whiskey?” I ask, eyeing the flask.
“Yeah.”
“No thanks,” I say, shaking my head. “I want to remember everything.”
Vane's eyes flash with something dangerous, and a slow smirk spreads across his face. “Trust me, you'll remember every second of tonight.”
Before I can respond, he closes the distance between us, his hand sliding behind my neck as he pulls me to him. His lips crash against mine, and unlike that brief, stolen kiss at the party, this feels different—deliberate, consuming.
I gasp against his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss.
His tongue slides against mine, and something inside me ignites.
My hands move up his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his dress shirt.
The gentle boy who charmed my parents is gone, replaced by this hungry, demanding version that makes my knees weak.
His hands are everywhere—in my hair, down my back, pulling me impossibly closer. I match his intensity, rising on tiptoes to press against him fully. The delicate material of my dress feels like a frustrating barrier between us.
“God, Lia,” he groans against my mouth, and hearing my name like that—breathless, desperate—sends a thrill through me.
Without breaking the kiss, I fumble with his tie, yanking it loose. He gets the message, pulling back just enough to rip his shirt open and shrug it off.
I freeze, my breath catching at the sight of him. The lean muscles of his chest and abdomen are defined in the dim light of his bedroom. A tattoo I never knew existed curves around his right shoulder—something tribal that disappears around his back.
“See something you like?” He asks, that arrogant edge back in his voice.
My hands move of their own accord, fingers tracing the contours of his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin. “You're so beautiful,” I whisper, surprised by my own honesty.
The vulnerability in my voice seems to affect him. His cocky expression softens for a moment, and he catches my hands with his own, pressing them more firmly against his chest.
“My wildflower,” he murmurs, so quietly I barely catch it. His eyes search mine with unexpected tenderness. “I've waited so long for this.”
The nickname catches me off guard, making my heart flutter in a way that has nothing to do with nervousness and everything to do with how intimate it sounds on his lips.
“I need to fucking feast on you, Lia,” Vane whispers, his eyes darkening as he looks down at me. Before I can respond, he's guiding me backward until my legs hit the edge of his bed. His hands on my shoulders are gentle but firm as he lowers me onto the mattress.
“Vane,” I whisper, my voice trembling as he hovers over me.
His hands slide up my legs, bunching the silky material of my prom dress around my waist. The cool air hits my exposed skin, and I fight the urge to close my legs. No one has ever seen me like this before.
“These are in my way,” he growls, fingers hooking around the sides of my panties. With one swift motion, he tears the delicate fabric, the sound of it ripping making me gasp. He tosses the ruined underwear aside, his eyes never leaving mine as he positions himself between my thighs.
“You're so beautiful,” he murmurs, lowering his head. “My perfect wildflower.”
The first touch of his tongue against me sends electricity shooting through my body. “Oh!” I cry out, unprepared for the sensation. My hands fly to his hair, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.
Vane looks up at me, his eyes locked on mine as his mouth works against my most sensitive spot. The sight of him watching me while he does this is almost too much to bear. When he sucks my clit between his lips, my back arches off the bed.
“Vane!” I moan, louder than I intended. I can't help it—the pleasure is overwhelming. No one has ever touched me like this, and the feeling is more intense than anything I've experienced, even alone.
I can feel wetness between my legs, my body responding eagerly to his skilled mouth. It's embarrassing how quickly I'm falling apart, but I'm powerless to stop it. Vane groans against me, the vibration adding another layer to the sensation.
“That's it,” he murmurs against me. “Let me hear you, wildflower.”
Vane suddenly pulls back, his eyes dark with desire. I whimper at the loss of his mouth, propping myself up on my elbows to watch him. He stands at the edge of the bed, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as he unfastens his belt.
“Don't take your eyes off me,” he commands.
I couldn't look away even if I wanted to. My heart pounds as he unzips his pants and pushes them down his hips along with his boxers. His cock springs free, hard and thick, the tip glistening. My mouth goes dry at the sight of him.
“Oh,” I breathe, unable to form coherent thoughts.
Vane wraps his hand around himself, stroking slowly as he kneels back between my legs. “This is what you do to me, Lia,” he says, his eyes locking with mine. “I've been hard for you since the moment you walked down those stairs tonight.”
He lowers his head again, his tongue finding my clit while he continues to stroke himself. The visual of him pleasuring himself while tasting me sends a fresh wave of heat through my body. I can't tear my gaze away from his hand moving up and down his length.
“Vane,” I moan, my hips lifting toward his mouth. Knowing he's touching himself while going down on me makes everything more intense, more real. I feel a deep, hollow ache building inside me—a need I've never experienced before.
“I want...” I start, then hesitate, embarrassed by my own desire.
He lifts his head slightly. “Tell me what you want, wildflower.”
The nickname sends another rush of heat through me, making me bolder than I would have been otherwise.
“I want your cock inside me,” I say, feeling a rush of boldness.
A slow smile spreads across his face. He crawls up my body until we're face to face, his weight pressing me into the mattress.
“Such a good girl,” he murmurs against my lips, “but so impatient.” His voice is a mixture of amusement and desire. “I need to make you come first.”
He captures my mouth in a deep kiss that tastes faintly of me. The realization sends a wave of heat rushing through my body. His hand slides between us, fingers teasing my entrance.
“Vane, please,” I whimper against his mouth, arching toward his touch.
“Shh, I've got you,” he whispers, and then slowly slides two fingers inside me.
I gasp at the intrusion, my body tensing slightly before melting into the sensation. His fingers curl upward, finding a spot that makes my vision blur.
“I need to make sure you can take me,” he says, his voice husky as he watches my reactions. His thumb circles my clit while his fingers move in and out at a deliberate pace. “Need to make sure you're wet enough, relaxed enough.”
The dual sensations overwhelm me. I grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he increases his pace.
“That's it,” he encourages, his eyes never leaving my face. “Let go for me, wildflower.”
His fingers press deeper, stretching me most deliciously. The pressure inside me builds with each thrust of his hand, each circle of his thumb. I can feel myself getting wetter, my body preparing for what's to come.
“You're so tight,” he groans, adding a third finger that makes me cry out. “So perfect.”
Vane's thumb circles my clit with just the right pressure while his fingers curl upward, stroking that sensitive spot that makes my thighs tremble.
“Oh my god,” I gasp, my hips bucking against his hand.
“That's it,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on my face. “Let me see you come apart.”
He increases the pressure, the rhythm becoming more insistent. The sensation builds rapidly, far more intense than when I touch myself late at night, my face buried in my pillow to muffle any sounds. This is different—raw and uncontrollable.
“Vane, I'm—” I can't finish my sentence as waves of pleasure start to crash through me.
His fingers curl more firmly inside me, hitting that perfect spot with ruthless accuracy.
At the same time, his thumb continues its relentless circles on my clit.
My back arches off the bed as the orgasm hits me, an explosion that radiates from my core and floods every nerve ending. I cry out, not caring if I'm too loud.
“That's it, my wildflower. Let go for me,” he encourages, not slowing his movements.
I'm trembling around his fingers as the pleasure intensifies beyond anything I've ever felt alone in my bedroom.
Where my own orgasms have always been quick, contained things, this feels endless—waves of sensation washing over me one after another.
My vision blurs at the edges, and I'm clutching at his shoulders, his arms, anything to anchor myself as my body surrenders completely.
“Vane!” I gasp his name like a prayer, my nails digging into his skin.
He watches me, continuing to stroke me through each aftershock, drawing out the pleasure until I'm a quivering mess beneath him. I've never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, yet so powerful all at once.
Vane moves up my body, his skin sliding against mine in a way that makes every nerve ending light up. My breath comes in short gasps as his weight settles over me, pressing me into the mattress. I can feel the aftermath of my orgasm still pulsing through me, my body hypersensitive to every touch.
“You're so fucking beautiful when you come,” he whispers, his voice rough with desire.
My hands slide up his back, feeling the ripple of muscles under his skin as he positions himself between my thighs.
The hard length of him presses against my center, hot and insistent. Even without him being inside me, the pressure of his cock against my sensitive flesh makes me whimper. I instinctively rock my hips, seeking more friction, more pressure—more of him.
“Please,” I breathe against his lips, surprised by my own desperation.
Vane’s green eyes meet mine as he grinds his hips in a slow, deliberate motion that drags his cock along my wetness. The sensation is exquisite torture.
“Tell me what you want, Lia,” he demands, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You,” I answer without hesitation. “I want you inside me. Now.”
He groans, pressing his forehead against mine as he continues to rock against me, teasing us both. Each movement sends sparks of pleasure through my oversensitive body. I wrap my legs around his waist, trying to pull him closer, silently begging him to stop teasing and finally take me.
I've never wanted anything—anyone—as badly as I want Vane Blackwood right now. The realization should freak me out, but all I can feel is this overwhelming need building inside me, threatening to consume me.